Immortal hope
by Ruthless
Summary: Vernon's abuse of Harry leads to some very drastic changes. Harry Potter-Highlander X-over.
1. Chapter 1: Prolouge

**_Immortal Hope_**

**_Chapter One_**

Harry lay unconscious in a dark backstreet. He was bleeding from multiple cuts, and emerald-green eyes which had only days ago been blazing with a love for life stared blankly up at the dark sky above.

**_20 Minutes earlier_**

Harry staggered into the alley bleeding heavily from Vernon's latest. He'd managed to stem some of the flow, but he knew that it would be nowhere near enough for the long run. His only hope was that Richard would be there waiting, despite the fact that he was almost half an hour early.

Leaving a trail of dark red Harry forced himself to keep moving towards the far end of the alley. Three quarters of the way there Harry looked up.

Empty. It was empty.

Feeling light-headed Harry turned to leave. Despite the fact the fact that he was wearing glasses everything had lost solidity. The ground seemed to move beneath Harry's feet, forcing him to sit down as total darkness enveloped him.

**_Present time_**

Duncan (A/N known to Harry as Richard) walked into the alley, lost in the thought of how he was going to tell Harry that he was leaving in a few days time. After all, he had told the boy he was going to be around for the next month.

Several feet in, he realized that something was wrong. A few more steps brought Harry's crumpled form into sight.

Breaking into a run, Duncan squatted at Harry's side. The boy was lying in a pool of blood and Duncan could tell that by his pasty-white skin and glazed eyes that he'd past the point of no return some time ago.

The sight made his blood run hot, and he felt a deep disappointment that the person who had done this wasn't around.

As gently as possible Duncan slipped Harry's top up over his head, to check the full extent off the damage. At first glance he could count at least half a dozen deep slashes that looked as though they had been done with a butchers' knife. What skin wasn't bathed in red was at various stages of bruising, from pale yellow to dark purple.

Eyes wide in shock Duncan let rip the worst stream of curses that anyone in the town had heard in the last 50 or so years. And it wasn't all in English.

Like a spider moving down it's web, Duncan's hand moved down his side, and slipped free his knife. Even if he hadn't been able to protect the boy at least he could end his pain. Stealing himself he raised the knife above Harry's heart and brought it down, hard and fast.

Blood ran out of Harry's mouth, mixing with the already drying pool on the ground. A tremor ran through his body and he died.

Duncan rose and spun on his heel. He would get Methos to help put the boy to rest.

A deep, low moan froze Duncan in his tracks. With a slight idea of what he would see Duncan glanced over his shoulder. Harry's body was shaking and convulsing in what was a hell of a lot more than a random firing of the nerves.

Once more, though no where as spectacularly as last time Duncan cursed, this time at himself for not picking up on the minor detail that Harry had been a pre-immortal. As he stood there some of the more minor cuts began to heal over.

After a prolonged debate with himself over the best course of action Duncan picked Harry up, wincing at how light he was, and started back to Methos with the kid carefully in his arms, hoping beyond hope that the older Immortal wouldn't be to pissed off with Duncan for not realizing what the boy was.


	2. Chapter 2: The Immortals

**_Chapter Two_**

When Duncan arrived at the door to the house he and Methos were renting he became all the more grateful for the fact that Methos could feel his presence, because it meant he didn't have to stuff around with knocking on the door.

Methos pushed the door open, and seeing his partners burden led the way to the sitting room, where he pushed half a dozen things off the couch and turned to Duncan, "Lay him down here for the moment. We can talk while you set up the spare room, because if this is anything to judge by it doesn't look like we'll be going anywhere, anytime soon."

"You get the spare room sorted. I'm going to clean him up. It's bad enough coming back the first time, without being covered in blood as well."

Duncan had already lay Harry down while talking and was heading towards the door, down a softly lit hall with beige carpets and white wallpaper.

At the end of the hall was a small, dark wash house. Behind the door were several buckets, one of which Duncan grabbed before turning to go back up the hall, to the bathroom.

Methos however, stood blocking the door, "as you've made it quite clear you have no wish to talk in the near future we will do so now. Who is he?"

Duncan tried to dodge past Methos, but the older Immortal simply placed a hand on Duncan's' shoulder, holding him in place. Fore the moment, defeated, Duncan sighed, "His name is Harry Potter."

A glint of recognition in Methos' eyes surprised Duncan enough that he stopped talking but Methos simply nodded, "Go on."

"I didn't recognize him as a Pre-Immortal because the feeling is almost non-existent before first death- as you very well know"

As he listened, Methos' expression lost a lot of sympathy, "I want the facts, not the excuses, Highlander," he growled, bringing his face perfectly level with Duncan's.

"All those cuts and bruises are from the people that are meant to be his caregivers. I'll bet my sword that they are. He's been dropping hints since he first came across me, but he also refused to let me do anything. Now if you'll excuse me..."

For the moment, satisfied Methos strode back up the hall and settled himself into a knelling position at Harry's side, drawing the boy's fringe back as he did so. Methos' breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell upon a scar that he'd heard so much about.

Duncan emerged into the sitting room with a bucket of warm, soapy water and a rag in one hand, and a towel thrown over his shoulder. Setting the bucket down beside Harry's head, Duncan wet the rag and softly began to clear away the dried blood from around the boy's shoulders.

Methos glanced at a grandfather clock standing against the wall and Duncan followed his gaze, "He's only been dead for around twenty minutes."

With a grim smile, Methos rose to his feet, "I'll get that room sorted, then. It's more than likely he'll need to get to get some proper sleep, after he comes to."

Nodding, Duncan turned back to his task and began toweling off the small area that was now clean. The bruises, which had been purple before, had faded to a far less ugly yellow, and anything that had been lighter than that was gone. Before long, Duncan fell into a rhythm and Harry's entire top half was clean.

Duncan stood to refill the bucket at the exact same moment that Methos came back into the room and slipped his arm around Duncan's shoulder, gesturing to the clock with his free hand. Another half hour had passed.

"So how long do you think he's going to take?" the older Immortal asked, drawing Duncan with him as he sunk back into a leather armchair on the opposite side of the room.

As Duncan relaxed against Methos, he was saved the trouble of replying. The final cut healed, Harry shuddered, gasping for breath, and his eyes snapped open.

Again Duncan climbed to his feet, and moved back across to Harry's side. The boy's eyes were darting left and right like a frightened rabbit, which had been trapped by a fox. Duncan took one of Harry's' hands in his own and spoke in what he hoped was a soothing voice, "How do you feel?"

Harry raised his free hand to the back of his neck, which at that moment felt as though it had been badly sunburnt and looked cautiously at Duncan. Then his eyes dropped to his chest and a fleeting look of shock darted across his face.

"You'll get used to the feeling. Soon it won't be any more than a tingle. Now how do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck. What happened, and where the hell am I Richard?"

Methos gave a snort of laughter, "Richard? Haven't heard that one before," then he walked into the bedroom the two men were sharing and came out a minute later with a pile of clothes, "Actually his names Duncan, and you'd do well to remember that. Now go take a shower. First door on the left. I'm going to heat up some food and then while we're eating the three of us have something to discus," Methos dumped the clothes onto Harry's' lap, and sat back in the chair as Duncan helped the boy to his feet and sent him down the hall.

Moments later the sound of running water reached the two Immortals and Methos, feeling visibly more relaxed, put out his hand, "Is the big, strong Richard going to help me up as well?"

Duncan did help Methos rise but the moment he knew the older Immortal was sure of his footing he punched him none-to-lightly on the shoulder and said in a brotherly tone, "Shut up. I'm sure you've changed your identity for one person without telling anyone else."

Laughing Methos went through to a mid-sized white and yellow kitchen, "As a matter of fact I'll have to admit that I have, " he then stopped talking for a few moments as he opened one of the smallest fridges he'd seen in the past century and grabbed out an ice-cream container, turning to Duncan as he did so. Duncan had already taken a pot out of the cupboard and had it warming on the stove, "You're a real dear, you know."

Duncan forced a look of pretend offence on his face, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he couldn't avoid smiling for more than fifteen seconds at the most, "Well do go on, then," he said, watching as Methos filled the pot.

"Not much to tell. A mortal woman I'd taken a fancy to saw me shot dead in a poorly conducted pistol dual. When I came back I was well away from her and I was also my identical twin. Not that she wanted anything to do with my _brother _after my death."

Then Methos broke off and exchanged a glance with Duncan, who snorted briefly, before realising why. The water had stopped running. Methos went back over to the fridge and pulled out a large bottle of whiskey, which he pushed into Duncan's' hands, "Take this, and some glasses out to the dining room table. Even if our news only hits him half as hard as it did as it did the last new Immortal we dealt with, we're still going to need it."

Yawning widely, the younger Immortal complied, leaving Methos alone with his thoughts and the bubbling pot as he tried to work out how best to deal with the current situation. One thing was for sure-it was the most unique he'd been in for a long, long time.

Almost automatically Methos took the pot of off the heat and removed three plates for the cupboard, putting them on a stove side table. He then poured out equal amounts, transferred them and some cutlery to a large, wooden tray and carried it out to the dining room, where Duncan was trying to ease the tension in the room with small talk.

Out of all the rooms the house had to offer this was by far Methos' favorite. Well this and the bedroom, but that was a different story. A polished rimu floor was a perfect match to the table, which graced the center of the room. A window and sliding glass door took up half the far wall, the wallpaper was a soft creamy white and a small chandelier, hanging just above the table, lighted the room.

Methos set each plate in front of it's intended, looked approvingly at Duncan who had pored everyone a generous measure of whiskey, and sat down beside has partner, directly opposite to Harry, who had once again risen his hand to the back of his and was furiously rubbing it.

Looking oddly embarrassed Harry lowered his hand to his side and locked eyes with Methos, "Right. Where the hell am I?"

Methos drew his fingers in front of his lips in a zipping gesture and smiled innocently at Duncan, who sighed, "This is a house that myself and my partner here, Methos are renting. It's still the same town and everything."

"Two. How many days was I out for those um _scratches _that I had to heal so completely?"

"You were out for a little under an hour. Actually I was surprised you came back so quickly, when the average is two to three hours, to a day. The first is usually the longest."

Harry tensed, as though he knew he wouldn't like the answer to his next question, "First. First what?"

Duncan winced. This was the part he hadn't been looking forward to, "First death. By the time I found you, you were dying. There was nothing that could be done to save you're life so I ended it. Only you, unlike most others, came back."

On hearing this Harry paled visibly and rose his glass to his lips, "I don't want to here any more tonight," then he tossed back his head, downed the contents of his glass in one gulp and slammed it down on the table, "More please."

This time it was Methos who answered, "By the looks of you, you haven't had a decent meal in a while. I'd like you to finish that plate first. Trust me; starvation is not a pleasant way to die."

"Starvation?" Harry queried, before raising his hands, "Don't bother, I'm not asking." Then as quickly as was possible he finished off the food, and pushed his glass across the table, where Duncan promptly refilled it.

Three hours and the rest of the bottle later Harry passed out. Not without some sympathy Methos rose from the table, picked the boy up and carried him through to the spare room, Duncan trailing silently behind.

"He is going to have one hell of a hangover when he comes to."

Methos grinned, "And whose fault would that be, Highlander? Because I seem to remember trying to get him to stop, after three. I certainly didn't fill up any after that."

Methos walked back out to clear the table and stood, staring dumbly at the empty bottle, "Damn," he muttered softly, "that was my best bottle."

Then he gathered the empty plates and glasses up onto the tray he'd brought them out on, carried them out to the sink and slipped into bed beside Duncan.

By then the clock read four seventeen A.M.


	3. Chapter 3: Meet Connor

**_Chapter Three_**

Methos slept until well after four in the afternoon, when he was woken by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Sighing, Methos rolled away from Duncan, and resting on hand on the bed, pushed himself to his feet.

Crossing the room in a few easy strides Methos pulled back the curtains and looked down at the black jeans and tee shirt he'd slept in. Deciding it was best not to keep their visitor waiting, he shook Duncan awake. It was probably too much to hope, that he would stay like that. When he was halfway to the back of the door, the back of his neck started to tingle.

"Hold on a mo'," Methos called out, and then he went into the sitting room, where a leather wrapped sword stood in a corner. From it, Methos removed his sword and went back to the door.

A familiar voice called out from behind the door, "If I were going to run you through, do you seriously think I'd be waiting for the door to open?"

Methos raised his sword, just in case, flicked back the latch and opened the door. It was only because of the practice he'd had, that he was able to hide his surprise at seeing who was on the other side, "Connor. What the hell are you doing here?"

Connor grinned, "Well do you just leave an old friend standing out in the cold, or are you going to invite me in?"

"I ought to leave you out there, as a reminder of why you should come by, more often," however, instead of making good on his threat he moved to one side, "Come on in. Maybe you'd care to explain how you found us," then he flicked his sword around a few times and lowered it to his side.

As Methos lowered his sword, and the most immediate danger passed, Conner stepped forward and embraced him. After a few moments Connor stepped back and peered intently over Methos, shoulder, "Us?" he inquired.

'Well Duncan's still dead to the world at the moment. And there's a new Immortal, not even a day dead. Name o' Harry."

Connor's eyes went wide, "As in the one whom..."

Methos cut Connor off, with a raised hand and showed him to the sitting room, "The one and only. Now, if you'll be kind enough to excuse me, I may jus have the leverage I need to get Duncan awake, more or less," then he returned his Ivanhoe to the darkest corner of the room and went back to his and Duncan's' bedroom, calling over his shoulder, "make yourself comfortable."

Duncan hadn't moved since Methos had left him. Well unless you could count breathing that was. Grinning to himself Methos picked up one of the pillows from his half of the bed and held it over Duncan's' face. Jerking awake, Duncan lashed out, his fist driving into Methos' collarbone. Had he been mortal the bruise would have lasted for days.

Spluttering indignantly Duncan sat up, "Thanks, but for future reference I prefer alarm clocks. You could have bloody well killed me, doing that."

"Aye Highlander, I very well could have, but fortunately for my sake it's only a temporary condition."

Duncan took two steps into the hall and froze, looking at Methos, "Who's here?"

"Come see for yourself. I dare say you'll be quite relieved it isn't anyone else."

Spinning on his heel, Duncan shot back into the bedroom, grabbed a shirt and a pair of black tracksuit pants, and pulled them on. He didn't mind Methos seeing him in only a pair of boxers (he had seen Duncan in less then that to) but there was no way he was giving anyone else an eyeful.

Methos gave Duncan a devil-may-care grin, "You're too modest for you're own good, and I'm sure our guest would agree with me."

A look of mock horror appeared on Duncan's face as he rose his hand to his hair, "That doesn't feel to good."

Literally shaking with repressed laughter, Methos shook his head, "No way on earth am I letting you worry about your hair. It looks fine."

Grabbing Duncan's hand Methos partly dragged him out, ignoring the myriad of complaints and cursing that streamed from the younger Immortal. Of course the moment Duncan saw the person it was that was sitting on the couch he fell silent. For all of five seconds, "Connor. Where the hell have you sprung from?"

"Wanted to see who decided Bryon's time was up. Since there weren't any Immortals that I knew of in the area I was hopping whoever had done it would feel like sticking around for a while. This_ is _the only place, within a reasonable distance that's being rented."

"Impressive," Duncan said, with utter sincerity. Then he pulled Connor off of the couch and drew his ex-mentor into a tight hug, "It's been to long old friend. Far too long."

Connor returned the embrace, "I hear your little group just got a little larger."

Duncan broke away, "Should I get him up?"

"Only if you don't mind," Conner said, sitting back down.

"Oh I don't mind. I'm not sure if he's going to share my views, though, "Duncan smiled cheekily and turned down the hall, to the ex-spare room, shut the door and pulled back the curtains letting in the late afternoon sunlight. Then he gently shock Harry by the shoulder.

Groaning, the boy opened his eyes, squinted for a few moments and pulled the blankets up over his head.

Remembering his first hangover, Duncan chuckled sympathetically, "Time to rise and shine, my boy," he said, drawing the blankets down.

Harry gave Duncan such a glancing look that he was honestly grateful that looks couldn't kill. Then he sat up, grabbed the blankets, and once more, set about getting comfortable, "I'm not getting up unless you turn that bloody sun out."

"Oh, yes you are, " Duncan said, these time pulling the blankets off of the bed and throwing them over to the other side of the room, "There's someone I'd like you to meet. I think Methos has some aspirin for situations like this."

Complaining worse than Duncan had to Methos, Harry rose shakily to his feet and started out to the lounge. Despite the fact that he was paying the price for last night he still lifted his hand to the back of his neck, as it began to sting.

"Don't worry. That's just your Quickening warning you of another Immortal."

Harry simply looked confused, "My who's doing what, now?"

Duncan sighed, "Don't worry. It'll be explained properly later. Unless of course, you come to the conclusion that we've all lost our marbles, and decide to turn your back on any help we offer."

Harry walked into the sitting room and the new man stood, extending his hand to Harry, "I am Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. I was born in the Highlands of Scotland in the year 1518," then his eyes flicked upwards as Harry took Connor's hand, "And you, of course are Harry Potter of Godrics' Hollow, born in the year 1980."

"And I'm also sick of everyone knowing who I am. How the hell did you know, anyway?"

Connor chose to ignore Harry's' question, "You can tell a lot about a person, after a few centuries of shaking hands."

Duncan turned to Methos, "Have you got any aspirin left, old man?"

"Sorry. All out."

Harry sat down next to Connor, "Pleased to meet you, I guess," then he glanced at the clock and paled quite considerably.

"What's wrong?" Methos asked, concerned.

"My uncle. He's going to kill me, for disappearing like this. And then, there's the things I was keeping there."

"Well if all you have to worry about is dying again, then you shouldn't look so worried. We'll pick your things up later. First we have your tuition to discuss."

"I thought he was going to stay with us!" Methos winced. There went Duncan.

"No discussion required," Connor said, protectively clapping a hand on Harry's' shoulder, "It may have bee a while since I worked with anyone, but I'll take him under my wing."

Methos looked like a shark, about to catch a 10-pound Snapper, "Are you sure about that? Because I'm pretty certain the Watchers have no wish to interfere in the Game, but with a case a special as this..."

"That's all the more reason to take him, then. The last thing we need is another Watcher-trained whelp running about. He wouldn't last his first fight."

"Well that's that sorted," Methos said, before glancing at Duncan, "Or not."

The second youngest Immortal in the room looked set to explode.

As the yelling began Connor lent over to Harry, "If we were smart we'd take this chance to escape. When Duncan gets started he can go on for hours," then without moving his hand from Harry's' shoulder he stood up and raced for the door, calling over his shoulder, "See you in a few hours."

The moment Harry stepped outside, he found himself squinting against the sunlight, and Connor could see that his eyes were bloodshot. Harry looked up at the man who had volunteered to be his teacher, "You know I already go to a school, right?"

"Of course I do," Connor said, then without the slightest warning he tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder and the boy felt an odd, swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach. At the same time everything began to swirl around him.

When Harry could see again, they were standing on the Dursleys' front lawn. For the first time in his life, Harry had Apparated.

"The only reason I can do that is because I came across Methos owling your mother and nagged him for three months straight. I can be very persuasive."

Connor mounted the steps leading up to the front door in a single stride and knocked on the door with the authority of a cop. Harry felt a twinge of fear as Vernon called out, "Hold on, I'm coming."

The door pushed open and there stood Vernon. His face was calm for two seconds then he grabbed Harry by the shirtfront, dragged him inside, slammed the door shut and literally threw Harry back into the nearest solid object, which happened to be a wall. Pain shot through Harry's' body and Vernon drew his fist back, to strike the boy, but before he could slam it into Harry the door burst open and Connor was holding a sword against Vernon's' throat.

"I have taken a man's head before Dursley, and I will not hesitate in doing the same to you. Of course if you don't want to take my word for it, I welcome you to try me."

Vernon went a weird shade of white and purple, but he didn't dare move. Any argument he could have dredged up sounded a whole lot less convincing when it was coming out of a hole in your neck, several inches below your mouth.

Connor looked over at Harry, "Go get your things. I expect you back down here in around five minutes, and then we'll be on our way."

Taking the stairs two at a time Harry raced up to his ex-room. He'd gotten Ron to take most of his things to the Burrow, with the idea that he would send Hedwig to pick up anything he needed for homework. It had sounded good in theory and now Harry was all the more grateful that it had been put into practice, because it meant that all Harry had to grab was his wand, Hedwig's' cage and some rock cakes that Hagrid had sent him.

Harry headed back down the stairs. Neither Connor, nor Vernon had moved an inch from where he'd left them, "I'm ready."

Connor lowered his sword to his side, Good-bye Mr Dursley. Please inform Petunia that her nephew will now be living with an old friend of her sisters. And for your sake I hope that we never cross paths again."

Stepping outside, Connor silently shut the door and secured his sword under his heavy, gray jacket, "Shall we go some place a little more welcoming, then? There's a nice little park, not far from here, and there's no way I want to risk my life with Duncan at the moment."

Harry thought about it for a few seconds, and then nodded, "Let's go."

Once again Connor took Harry's' shoulder, and they Apparated.


	4. Chapter 4: A Job

**_Chapter Four._**

This time when Harry's vision cleared they were standing in a small, dark cave. Harry didn't realize how small until he tried to straighten up and cracked his head on the ceiling. Harry glared in the direction of the faint black outline that was chuckling.

"It may not be the roomiest, but it does the trick," taking Harry by the shoulder the black shape lead him to the entrance of the cave and shoved aside a heavy curtain of vines and leaves.

Once in the light Harry repeated the glare and Connor, seeing it this time, winced, "Well, if you'd asked why I was bending over I would have warned you."

Connor could tell by Harry's expression that the boy didn't believe him. He didn't blame him, as he wouldn't have believed himself either, "Probably," he amended, leading Harry to a bench seat that had been set up only four steps from the entrance of the cave.

Harry sat down with a 'humph' sound and crossed his arms. For a few seconds his eyes shut, "Right, I want to know what's going on, and I want to know now. These last few hours have sent me head over heels, but I'm not moving 'till I get an explanation."

"Well that's good to know. Makes my job so much easier since I was just about to say it was about time we had a talk. How much did Methos and Duncan actually tell you?"

"They said I died but I didn't give them the chance to tell me anything else. Didn't want to hear it."

"This time you don't have a choice about hearing it," Connor sat down beside Harry and leant back against the seat, "And I would like you to do your best _not to interrupt_, got it?"

"I can't promise I'll try, but I'll try to try," Harry said, grinning cheekily.

Connor withheld a sigh, "Let's start with your death. Even in the mortal world people can be clinically dead, and come back with no, or minimal ill effects. The difference between that, and what happened to you is that when you came back you were, are, beyond human. You death was violent, yes?"

"Harry shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. Can't really remember all that much of it, myself. Just pain and blackness."

"That's not actually very surprising. Whenever you were around Methos and Duncan you picked up an odd feeling?"

"It's the same around you."

"You are what is known as an Immortal. This means that you are not going to age a day past what you already are and the only way you can die permanently is if you head is cut from your shoulders. Any injury, other than a lost limb will regenerate and if you die any other way you will always, eventually return to life."

Harry shook his head slowly in disbelief, "And who'd want to cut off my head? It'd be kind of messy, wouldn't it?"

"Other Immortals. Every single Immortal, from the moment they come back from their first death, is a part of something called the Game. When an Immortal takes another's head their Quickening is transferred."

"So," Harry said, still unsure of how much to take seriously, "What's the actual deal with this Quickening thing?"

"As well as warn you of other Immortals, your Quickening is ultimately your source of power. It is what lets you come back from death, recover from injuries, in hours, what would take months on a mortal and it is what will hold you at this age."

"But if it lets every Immortal do this, then how come others want it?"

"And that, Harry," Connor said, stretching, "Is hitting the nail on the head. As well as your power, all of your memories are transferred, and the Immortal that takes your head is a step closer to the Gathering and winning the Prize. Our entire life is the Game."

Harry opened his mouth, as though he was going to say something, and Connor paused, but it seemed he thought better of it.

"Like any other Game, our one has rules. Our main rule is that fighting on holy ground is strictly forbidden, and don't ask why because I don't actually know. Let's just say that the only people who know are in no state to tell."

"Um, okay." Harry muttered, "Back at the house you mentioned Watchers. Who - or what are they?"

"Watchers are normal humans that feel it is there duty to record every major factor of our life. Teachers, students, preferred fighting style, whoever challenges you, what time you get up in the morning, and ultimately, who kills you,"

"All of that?"

"Well, not quite," Connor moved his eyes over Harry's face, "but that's not the type of thing one as young as you should be worrying about. You seem to be taking this rather well."

A disbelieving laugh sounded from the boy, "Trust me, I'm not. I just don't think it's fully hit me yet. I wanted a normal life once Voldemort was dead. Now I find out I'm going to be spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting to lose my head. And, looking as young as I do, I can't see kids in the near future. Or the far one, for that matter."

What you just said about children brings me to something else. An Immortal is not born of human flesh, nor can they have children."

"Damn," Harry muttered softly, looking away from Connor for a few seconds. Then he glanced back, "Would you happen to know anything about tracking charms?"

"Please don't tell me there was one on you," Connor groaned, "They automatically stop working if the person they are on dies."

"Umm, yeah. Professor Dumbledore put one on me before I left the school."

Furry flashed over Connor's face at the mention of Dumbledore's name but since he didn't elaborate Harry felt that it would be smarter not to ask. Connor sat there in dead silence for a few seconds, "Well, that's a hell of a lot sooner than I wanted the old man to find anything out."

Without warning Connor gripped Harry's arm and for the third time that day, Apparated. The feeling of having his stomach dropped through his feet was becoming annoyingly familiar to Harry, but knowing his surrounding afterward made things a lot easier.

The huge, wrote-iron gates which separated Hogwarts from the out side world, were fully shut, but this didn't seem to bother Connor. All he did was rest a hand over lightly over the lock, and say something to them that Harry didn't quite catch. Without any further prompting they swung open.

Harry made to go through the gates but Connor stopped him, resting a hand on his shoulder, "I want you to be as quite as possible. Not a single noise until we are in Albus's office," then he drew his wand and gave it a deft, little flick, "Invisibility charm," he said, "and don't wander off, because I can still feel you."

Halfway up to the school they were stopped by none other that Professor McGonagall. Her eyes rested coolly on Connor, "I am Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress of this school. You are?"

"Someone that has something rather important to discuss with Albus," Connor smiled at her, "Would such a charming lady be willing to escort me to his office and tell him that a man named Conner needs to talk to him?"

On hearing this Harry snorted, and the moment she was looking in the other direction he received a piercing glare from Connor.

"It'd be a pleasure to escort such a well-mannered man."

The trip to the stone gargoyle was something Harry rather wished he hadn't been present for. What with the conversation that passed between the two adults, Harry could feel himself going red, just listening to it. It was a huge relief for him when they got there ten minutes later and McGonagall simply gave Connor the password and declined his offer to come up with him.

As the gargoyle twisted its way up Harry decided it was safe to speak again, "And was that conversation really necessary?" he complained, looking, unimpressed at the older Immortal. Not that that mattered, since he couldn't see it.

"Entirely," Connor smiled, innocently at where he thought Harry was, before removing the spell. Then his expression became serious, "For the most part I want you to leave things up to me, got it?"

"Loud and clear," Harry said as Connor knocked on the door.

"Come in," called a familiar voice from inside. Connor's eyes flashed again with an expression that was gone before Harry could recognize it.

Dumbledore looked up from a pile of papers that he was poring over and shock crossed over his face, "Connor. Not that your presence isn't welcome, but why have you sprung from the woodwork after so long?"

Tension was obvious between the two men, but they were both doing their best to ignore it.

"So long?" Connor raised his eyebrows, "It's only been around a decade. Blink and you miss it. Of course, that doesn't hold true for one as young as the boy here."

Now it was Harry on the receiving end of a cool expression as Dumbledore turned his attention to the boy, "Well Harry. Letting Connor remove that spell certainly got my attention. I'll re-cast it and then maybe you could wait outside, hmm?"

Connor's face took on the same coolness as Dumbledore's, "_My student_ will be doing no such thing. He is the reason I am here, and I did not remove any spell. In fact, since it is you fault he wound up dead at the hands of his so-called relatives, you owe him a thousand fold."

"Dead?" Dumbledore sputtered, "That is the most preposterous thing I've ever heard. It's the safest place for him."

Conner quite clearly didn't want to waist time arguing. He freed his _katana _from his side and cut Harry's shoulder. He didn't use any force, but the blade still went deep into his flesh. Harry winced and narrowed his eyes at Connor, "What'd you do that for?"

The older Immortal didn't bother replying as ten seconds later the answer became obvious. Blue lightning arched from the wound, closing it before blood could even properly fall.

"That should be enough to settle things," Connor said, coolly.

Horror appeared on Dumbledore's face, "Harry, I'm sorry. Can you ever for…" He was cut off as the door burst open and Snape swept in, a look torn between annoyance and amusement on his face.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, Connor?" he growled. Then he punched the Immortal, none to lightly on the shoulder, "So how have you been?"

"I've been better then you are going to be in ten seconds, if you don't tell me what that was for," Connor replied, rubbing his shoulder, "And as for what brings me this way..." he trailed off and clapped a hand on the arm of Harry, who had pushed himself into the wall when Snape came in, and drew him out, "The identity of my new student requires that I get a new job."

Snape's attention shifted to Harry for a few seconds, before he looked back at Connor, "I didn't do any more than you deserved, disappearing without a word for ten years," he looked at Harry again, "Is Potter still _alive _as such, and under you wing, or..."

"He's a full fledged member of the Game, Severus."

"Isn't he a little young?"

"No!" Connor snapped the word with such furry that Snape winced.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your business then," Snape turned on his heel and left, robes billowing behind him. Harry felt it would have been more impressive if he'd actually been annoyed.

"Well, that went better than I expected it to," Connor said lightly, before turning back to Dumbledore, "So, are there any job openings?"

"You want to work for me?" Dumbledore looked surprised.

"It's not so much a want, as a matter of necessity. Things would look rather odd for an adult to be around the castle 24-7 with no reason, and I am not keen on attracting attention."

Harry's stomach growled loud enough to draw stares from both of the adults. Dumbledore drew his wand and conjured a plate of sandwiches before answering Connor.

"It dose so happen that we have an opening. Defense Against the Dark Arts. We haven't been able to keep anyone in that spot for more than a year, so people are not vary keen on taking it. I'd be more than a little grateful if you were to save me the hassle of actually finding someone."

"Done," Connor growled, "But as soon as the boy leaves I do to."

"Wouldn't expect it any other way," Dumbledore said softly. His tone sounded a little sad.

"Well, we'd best be heading back or heads will roll."

Without looking back Connor lead Harry out of the school to the grounds. Much to Harry's surprise night had fallen. The only light came from a full moon, shining softly overhead. This time they headed out through the Forbidden Forrest. A chilling howl tore through the silence, but before they got anywhere near the point of origin Connor took Harry's hand in his own and Apparated back to the bench side cave.

"Lumos," Connor said, raising his wand so that the light fell upon Harry's gear, "Ready to face the wrath of Duncan?" he asked, laughing.

"Suppose it'd be better to face it now than let things stew," Harry grabbed his thing and expectantly gripped Connor's hand again. The entire world was whisked away as his body gave into the exhaustion of multiple Apparitions.

When Connor got back he put Harry into bed, and sat down by the lad's side. In his mind, fifteen years ago, a different person looked at someone he cared about and said the same words that e had heard today.

_Isn't he a little young?_

He didn't care what it cost him. This time he wasn't going to lose anyone.


	5. Chapter 5: A Gift

**A.N Well, here we go. This story is finally alive and on the move once again. Sorry that it's been so long. Real life was calling.**

**_Chapter Five  
_**

For the last three days Connor had been out and about, gathering everything that he would need in order for when the school went back, and Harry had spent much of that time revelling in his new found sense of freedom. It was nice to be able to wake up when he wanted, and go outside wanted, and relax when he needed to. In short, he liked being treated as a regular human being.

But a few days of easy living couldn't make up for years of abuse.

Quite often, sometimes two or three times a night, he woke up in a sweat, with his heart pounding, wondering where the next blow would fall, and the sense that the last few days had been nothing more then an overly long dream -The latest happenstance of being knocked unconscious.

But if it were nothing more then a dream, then he wasn't sure that he really wanted to wake up. He wasn't sure that he would be able to handle waking to what he had left behind.

One time when he woke, and was unable to suppress the cry that lingered in his throat, it was Duncan that came rushing in, and held him against his shoulder as he shivered, able to do nothing more then sit there, and listen to the gentle voice which shushed him.

"You're alright, kid. You'll be fine. We'll keep you safe, if it's the last thing I see to. Especially after…"

He trailed off, knowing that the last thing that the boy needed was to hear of his pains, when he already had his own dark past to handle, and cope with. And what a past it was.

While he hadn't been able to get any details out of Methos, over his recognition of the boy, he'd seen more then enough of the young one's pain at the moment, to last a lifetime or two.

The last thing that he expected, was for the kid to draw back from him, and look up to him, questions in his eyes.

"Especially after what, Sir?"

Duncan frowned at the title. That was something else that he couldn't help but notice. When the boy was recovering from worry, or fright then everyone around him became "Sir." If there were any woman around, then he suspected that they would have become "Madam" as well.

"It doesn't matter after what."

And it didn't because it wouldn't make any difference. He looked at the teenager before him, and he saw a tiny echo of Richie, the young man that _he_ had failed to protect. Not from some nameless, faceless enemy, but from himself.

"Yes it does. If it worries you, then it does matter."

"You just…you remind me of someone else, that's is all."

"Oh." Harry said.

And Duncan slowly stood, and looked down at the boy.

"Did you want a hot chocolate? I was just on my way down to the kitchen, myself," he lied easily, practise making it smooth.

And watched as the boy's eyes widened -He had no defence what so ever, against coddling. It hadn't taken long to discover that.

Not for the first time, he wondered about what was keeping Connor. The man was meant to have gotten back late that afternoon.

Just because he worried, didn't mean that he had no faith in his teacher. It just meant that he was like any concerned child.

"I'd like that, thanks," Harry's voice broke his revive.

"Sure thing, kid," he lightly ruffled his hair.

When he was halfway through his task, he felt the buzz of approach, and a flare of relief as a knock sounded at the door. Still, caution won out, as he kept the door on the security chain, and opened it the couple of centimeters that the security chain would allow.

This late at night, with the person that he was expecting overdue, there were well and truly no guarantees.

It was Connor.

He shut the door, and slipped off the security chain, before standing back to allow the other man inside. As soon as he had crossed the threshold, he drew him into a brief hug, which was readily returned.

"Connor. You're a little overdue. I was starting to wonder."

"I'm fine, Duncan. Ran into a little unexpected trouble on the way back, which I had to deal with."

"I thought as much."

The feeling of another person coming into range made both of them hesitate, and turn towards the door.

Connor nodded smoothly, at the boy.

"Harry," He said, by way of a greeting, taking a couple of steps in his direction, and swinging the bag that he'd been carrying down from on his shoulder. With little flourish, he handed it over to the boy, who just looked at him.

"For me?" he queried.

"Yes, lad. For you. I'll teach you how to keep the blade, and everything else you need to know. After all, sword-work is going to become an essential part of your life from here on out."

"Yeah, I guess."

Connor raised an eyebrow, "there's no 'I guess' about it, at all, my boy. If you want to live, then you'll learn to fight. Now, get back to bed. We've got an early start tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6: Of Men And Madness

_**Chapter Six**_

It was the crack of dawn, when the sound of knocking woke him from a dream, in which he'd been dancing, bare-foot, on top of Voldemort's head, while he tried to feed his snake a strawberry ice cream Sunday. He wasn't quite sure where the dream had came from, but he was rather sad to see it go. There was far too little humor in his life, these days, unless he was to count Adam's way of constantly ribbing Duncan, and the reactions that it bought.

_Damn, he wasn't kidding about the whole 'early start' thing,_ Harry mentally grumbled to himself, as he rolled over, and promptly fell out of the bed, to land rather roughly, on the floor. He hadn't realized, that he'd been lying right on the edge.

"You up yet, lad?" he heard Connor calling in to him.

"Yeah, sure thing," Harry called back. Well, _technically_ it wasn't a lie. He was up from in the bed, even if he wasn't _actually _on his feet, and getting dressed yet.

"Five minutes," the tone of voice left no room for any protestation that the boy may have raised.

"Sure," Harry replied, biting back the small sigh, which threatened to escape.

One of the first things that Duncan had taken Harry to do, after Connor had left, was get some new clothing, as he insisted that since the boy was beginning a new stage of life then he ought to have something equally new. Three hours, and what seemed like a small fortune later, he'd wound up coming out of the clothing store with a whole new wardrobe –almost literally.

Adam had pleaded a very convenient sore head, and a pre-ordained date with a can of beer, the couch, and a book that Harry couldn't even guess at the English translation of, let alone the original text. In fact, he had a feeling that even Hermione would have had trouble with it.

He was, truth be told, fostering a suspicion that Adam had guessed just how out of hand things would get, and had stayed back in order to preserve his sanity, which, he had said a couple of times, was already fragile enough.

After laying on the floor for as long as he dared, he rolled over and rose to his feet, pulling out a pair of sensible black jeans, and a rather less sensible tee-shirt, which had the Queen crest on one side, and some odd blue caricatures on the other, standing under the song title "It's A Kind Of Magic." He didn't care where he had to be off to so early –it felt like as good a time as any, to break his new clothes in.

As he came in to the kitchen a raised eyebrow greeted him, "Not to bad, kid."

"Good morning to you, too," Harry said, as smooth as he could manage.

He looked from Duncan, who was sitting on the chair lacing up a pair of trainers, to Connor, who was pouring a cup of coffee. A snore, from the direction, told him that Adam was yet to rise.

"Where you off to, Duncan?"

"Going out for a run. With you around I'm afraid that I've missed out for the last few mornings. But now that you're going to be occupied…"

Harry snatched the coffee pot, and poured himself a cup while the going was still good, "So," he said, as he took a sip, "You know what he's gonna be having me doing today? Don't suppose you'd like to share?"

"You'll know soon enough," was all the reply he got, as Duncan stood, gave him a quick smile, over his shoulder, and headed out the door.

Connor tossed a loaf of bread at him, "Eat up, lad. You'll need your strength."

Half an hour later Adam was still in bed, and Harry had headed up stairs to grab the sword that he still hadn't unwrapped, before they'd headed out the door.

He led Harry out to a mint-condition '75 Plymouth, and unlocked the passenger door, and drivers' door, sliding into the front seat. Harry looked at him, questioningly.

"Why don't we just…well, you know…"

"Because this isn't a part of your world, lad. When I've no other choice, only then will I cross paths with your people. Until then, well, I'm far enough from normal as is. I prefer to use this method in order to stay the type of person that I know I am. Make sense?"

He turned the key in the ignition, and started the car, as the boy hopped into the passenger seat.

"I guess. I just figured, since it was easier?"

"Tell me. What in this world is worth doing, that is easy?"

Harry looked at him, as he pulled the door shut, and did his belt up, and Connor threw the car into reverse.

"And besides, if I were to lose whom I am, then what would make life worth living any longer? I've already been close enough to _that_ edge a few times -And over it once. Not a pleasant experience, I must say. And while that wasn't cause by magick, it's not an experience that I'd be willing to repeat any time soon. If it hadn't been for Severus…"

He wanted to know about Connor's unease with Dumbledore, but now wasn't the time. So instead, he asked something else, "What happened between you and Snape, for you to actually like him, anyway?"

_Twenty-eighth September 1982._

_Scotland._

"_I can live and grow old. I can have children."_

_Connor looked directly at a woman that no one else could see. Where he saw the beautiful Brenda Wyatt__, everyone else only saw a patch of empty air. He didn't know that she had been dead for a couple of weeks, while he'd been unconscious, taken down by one of the most powerful Quickenings in recorded history._

_And nor did he realize that the power of the Quickening had loosened his hold on reality. As far as he was concerned, the world was at peace, because he had made it so._

_The Game was over._

_There would be no more fighting, no more dieing, no more killing, no more pain or suffering._

_It was a perfect world. It was __his__ perfect world, and his alone - Because he was the only one that it existed for._

_A day in his world could be anywhere between a pair of days, to a week in real life._

_And the power of the fresh Quickening, of top of all of those that he'd already taken, had done something else to him. One thing that wasn't an illusion was that he __could__ control extremely localized weather, and he could feel empathy towards people with powerful emotions, and he could also do a number of other little things that he hadn't even noticed. In short, it had awoken the latent connection to another type of power, one that had always been there, but that he had never been able to tap before now. _

_In short, it had awoken within him, the ability to manipulate magick._

_Snape was far off in the hills, trying to get away from everything, when he heard a man, who was talking seemingly to him-self._

_Against his instinct for self-preservation, he followed the sound of the voice, and would up coming out, at a relatively flat area of land, to see a man sitting, cross-legged, his eyes closed against the early morning sunlight._

_He paused for a heart-beet, before clearing his throat as loudly as was possible._

_And Connor opened his eyes, to look directly at Snape, who had to wrestle with the urge to turn and leave while he still could. He'd seen the same sort of look that was in Connor's eyes before, in the eyes of Death-Eaters whom had been pushed that little bit too far._

_It was the look of a man whom wasn't entirely sane._

_He watched as Connor gave the patch of empty air a tiny smile, before rising, smoothly, to his feet, and saying something to him-self that Severus didn't quite catch all of._

"…_osible. Who are you?"_

_It was either he turn tail, and get out of here, or he stay and see if there was anything that he could do. And he had never been a coward._

_So he took a couple of steps, and extended his hand, "I'm Severus Tobias Snape. And you are, sir?"_

"_MacLeod. Connor MacLeod," he replied, as he took the extended hand._

_As he did so, something danced from Connor to Snape, knocking him backwards. Snape had been around pent up magick often enough to recognize the power of one wizard responding to another when he saw it._

_Or felt it, for that matter._

_He stood up, rubbing at his hand which was tingling as though from pins and needles, and looked at Connor, again._

_While there was madness in those eyes, and a lot of pain, and experience, there was nothing that felt as though it would be a threat to him. Not if he trod carefully._

"_So, how long ago did your magick emerge?"_

"_Magick. That's what all of this is?" He asked, as he grinned at Snape, and then turned back to where the phantom figure that he'd been talking to had been._

_And his eyes widened, as he looked around the small valley, with a quiet desperation._

_Severus knew exactly what would have happened. The overload of magick had been keeping him bound to his illusion. But, now that a fraction of it was gone, so was whatever fantasy he'd been experiencing._

_Then he looked back to Snape again, "What's going on? My wife? Where did she go?"_

"_Your wife?" he asked, his unease rapidly becoming replaced by sympathy._

"_Yes," he sounded half-resigned, and half-frantic, now, "I'm sure you saw her. You must have."_

_Snape swallowed, "I can explain, but you may wish to sit down again."_

_Connor tilted his head to one side, as though he were listening to something that only he could hear, as he slowly sat back down._

_And he made a comment that made no sense what so ever to Snape._

"_I was wrong. It's not over after all."_


	7. Chapter 7: A Matter Of Honor

**A.N Thanks to all of the people that reviewed. I highly appreciate it, and I'm glad that there are still people around that are happy to follow the story. And I _am _trying to make the chapters longer. **

**So, all my wonderful reviewers, this one's for you. Read and enjoy.**

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX  
**

**_Chapter Seven_**

"You…you lost it?"

"Ach. Only fer a wee while," he answered, his accent unconsciously thickening, "I was lucky tha' I didna lose meself entirely."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"There used ta be a man, an Immortal, called Darius. He was one of the fiercest generals that ever walked the land, until he met a holy man at the gates of…and took his head. The power of the Quickening…it changed him. He hung up his sword, and became a priest. Darius wasn't really Darius any more. The Immortal was so good, and so pure, that the utmost essence of whom he was; was transferred. And in one case that I've known, the opposite happened."

Connor paused, and winced, at the memory of what had happened to Duncan after his old student had taken what had become known, these days at least, as the Dark Quickening.

Harry could tell by the expression on Connor's face, that it was a touchy subject. Whoever said that he'd been absent the day subtlety had been taught didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

As Connor had spoken, he had been driving, steadily, in the same direction. And now, after slightly longer than an hour, he was turning onto some narrow metal road, which, looked as though it hadn't actually seen any metal this side of the new decade. Harry wasn't sure that he could recall ever having seen it before.

But then again, that wasn't actually saying all that much. He didn't exactly keep his eyes peeled for tracks that lead to the middle of the middle of nowhere.

He drove down the road for a further fifteen minutes, with the trees almost seeming to come forwards simply in order to lean over the two intruders, and see who they were.

Finally, he stopped the car, and slid smoothly out of the drivers seat, stretching his arms above his head, and the muscles in his legs, in order to limber himself up after sitting for the last hour and a half.

Then he looked at Harry, who had made no move what so ever, to get out, and rolled his eyes.

At seeing an adult pull off the action so efficiently, he gave a tiny snort, and turned a smile in towards himself.

"Come on, boy. Grab you things, and lets be moving again."

Harry reached down to the floor of the car, and picked up the still wrapped sword, before sliding out of the car, locking door, and hurrying after Connor, who was already making his way down the road-become-path.

"Listen," he said suddenly, to the young one walking beside him, "and tell me what you hear."

Harry made to pause, so that he could listen properly, but Connor shook his head, "No, keep moving. And listen."

It wasn't the easiest of tasks, with leaves crunching, and twigs snapping underfoot, but he still tried; straining his ears to try and catch what Connor wanted him to. But it felt like a hopeless task, and he was rapidly losing patients with it. It didn't even feel like there was any point to it.

Finally, he gave a frustrated sigh, and shook his head.

"Nothing. I don't hear _anything_," and, in saying that, it felt as though he were letting Connor down, and disappointing him. He _was_ a failure, and a disappointment, just like the Dursleys had always said that he would be, "Maybe you should go back to the drawing board, and chose someone that _can_ actually learn."

A split second later, a hand grabbing his shoulder, and spinning him towards the older man's chest stopped him. He looked up to see Connor scowling sharply at him, "Let me tell you, right here, you stop being so damned hard on yerself. If I'd a thought you couldna learn, then I'd have never taken you under wing. It doesn't matter what you've been told in the past. Tis yer future, that starts here and now. There'll be plenty o' other people, who'll be along, to give you a hard time, and try to run you down. So you can stop making the job so easy."

He wasn't sure what to say. He'd never had anyone talk to him like that before, not to affirm him, not to tell him that he was worth something.

All that he could do was look up at Connor, who was staring directly into his eyes, without breaking, or looking away. Without blinking, or flinching, or pulling back. Just like any normal person would, he supposed. It was a nice change.

Connor, Adam, and Duncan; they all treated him like a person, rather than something the needed to be squashed, then wiped off a boot heal.

Finally, he blinked, and twisted away, feeling a little calmer, and a little more centered. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the older Immortal nod.

"So, tell me. What's different? What can you hear? What does it tell you?"

He tilted his head to one side, but still he heard nothing. Yet he stayed, and, after a few agonizingly long moments, he heard that very same nothing in an entirely different way.

"There is _nothing_ to hear, here. _Nothing –_just not no people, and no particular thing that stands out, but no birds singing –No crickets chirping, or wind blowing through the trees, or wasps buzzing past."

He could see the approval in Connor's expression, so he tried to carry on, eager not to lose it.

"It tells me…" finally, he trailed off, looking to the older man for further guidance "…You know, I'm not entirely sure what it's meant to tell me."

"Good enough, lad. You can learn a lot, by paying attention to your environment. You can't always trust your eyes. Some times you have to rely on other senses. Reach out, with you magic, and tell me what you get."

"Reach out with my magic? How am I meant to do that?"

"Close your eyes, and take a deep breath."

Harry did so, drawing a deep, slow breath, and holding it until Connor told him to let it slowly out. The he drew another, and another. Finally, after what felt like ten minutes of simply breathing, Connor spoke again, low, and directly beside his ear.

"Now, focus on my voice. Forget the wind, and the smells, and anything else. Let the world fall away from you, and picture, as you do, tendrils of light seeping from your skin. Reach out, with the tendrils, for the nearest tree."

He reached out. And out, and out even more, far beyond what he had expected. And finally, just when it felt as though he were nearing the end of his range, he felt something. But it wasn't one of the hulking, giant, oak trees that were all around. In fact, it was a scrawny little sapling pine. He opened his eyes, to look for it, and instantly, he was back in the dark, shadowy, cool forest.

"What the?" he asked, slowly, looking around.

Connor grinned at him, and put out a hand towards one of the trees. Or at least, he went to –because where his hand should have met rough bark, it instead went through it. The tree, just like all the rest surrounding them, in this area of the forest, at least, was an illusion.

And just like that, in a heartbeat, he got what Connor was telling him about now trusting his eyes.

"They're all fake?"

"Not all of them, but at least seventy-five percent, around here. No one is quite sure why, or how this area came to be, but it's as good a place as any for a wizardling Immortal to start off his or her training. Now, unwrap you sword, and we'll see how much of a feel you have for the blade."

He did just that, reaching in to the cloth in order to grasp the handle of the weapon, and unwrapping the cloth from around the sheath.

And in one smooth move, which had Harry watching in awe, Connor drew his own sword from under his coat, slipped the coat off his arms, and flipped the sword around in his hands, bringing it into a perfect fighting pose, and gave the boy an easy grin.

"When you come up against an Immortal opponent, the first thing that you do is introduce yourself by your original name."

"Why?" Harry asked, as he rather more awkwardly drew his own weapon, and attempted to bring it up, into a matching pose.

Connor grinned, and Harry could practically feel the confidence radiating off of him. He was quite clearly a man who had been born to the sword, lived by it, and planned to die by it. He was glad that they were both on the same side; otherwise he would be in a whole lot of trouble right now.

"Why? Because of honor -If you're facing what could be the end of your life, then you want someone to remember your name, if only the person that kills you. And it's respect, to know whom it is that you're facing. Also, a real name can give you some idea of what to expect. Not all white men are English, and not all black men might be African, or such. The style of name gives you an idea of your opponents age, and from that, his or her skill. Lets you know whether you stand a chance, or would be better served by running away, and fighting again in a few years, or decades."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

He couldn't help but tense slightly, as Connor took a small step towards him, and grasped his arms, moving them slightly. Even that tiny adjustment made the sword feel more natural in his grasp. Then he stepped back again, and looked at his stance overall, and came forward to correct his leg, shifting it back further.

"That's better. Now, take your weight on your back leg. Use it for balance, to push yourself into the blow, and give yourself more force behind a block and strike, or drop back entirely, and get yourself out of range."

He demonstrated, briefly, all of the things that he'd mentioned, before slowly bringing his own blade up, to met Harry's, giving him a chance to respond appropriately. Seconds before the blades met one another, he spoke again, and paused.

"You're coming in with the far-most piece of the blade. What's that going to do, if your opponent has enough force behind it?"

"I don't know."

"It'll snap it clean in two, lad. When you come to block, especially when in combat with a stronger, bigger opponent, you use the stronger area of the blade," he lightly taped a spot, down near the handle with his own weapon, "down here. When you come to strike, only then do you cut forward with the killing edge. You met the blade down low, slide if you have to, then step back for your own strike. That's the most basic of techniques."

He demonstrated, before taking up the offensive again, and putting the boy through the set of moves at a reduced pace, a few times.

"Why's it necessary for me to know this anyway? I mean, if someone comes at me with a sword, what's to stop me from drawing my wand and blasting them?"

A look, that could only be described as disgust crossed Connor's face.

"And you'd shot a human Immortal in the back when he looked away too, would you?"

The anger in his tone took Harry aback.

"Of course not."

"Because if you would, then you're clearly not the person that I was lead to believe that you are. It's a technique that only a coward would use, to strike someone in a way that can't be defended against. It's a matter of honor. If you're an honorless, cheating coward, that won't give people a chance to fight back, then the world would be best served if I took your head right here and right now."

"What's so bad about wanting to survive?"

"Nothing's wrong with wanting to survive, but if you lost your honour, then you lose your self respect, and anything else that might keep you even remotely human."

In a heartbeat, Connor had settled into a proper battle posture, and was starting to circle around the boy before him, as he waited for the reply that he was hoping he would hear.

And he continued to talk, keeping his voice as even as was possible.

"You can survive, you do have a chance to thrive even, and you don't need to sink to the level of those that may be around you in order to do so. Others may do that, but that's not the way _we_ play the Game."

Harry swallowed, "Sorry," he said, looking at Connor, "It…it's just a lot to deal with. I'm sorry for saying the wrong things. For asking the wrong questions."

"Never apologies for your questions, boy. Just be sure that you don't start down that path, because it's a hard way back."

Harry was shaking. He was sure of it.

Then Connor lowered his blade, and to Harry's amazement, tugged him into a brief, one-armed hug, until the shiver had subsided.

"I don't know about you, lad, but I think that we've done enough for one day."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I'd second that."


	8. Chapter 8: Looking Forward, Moving On

_**Chapter Eight**_

The last thing that Harry had been doing was keeping track of the days.

Because of the failure of the tracking charm, on his first death, he hadn't received any mail. Not from Ron, or Hermione, or even from Hogwarts. So, it was completely out of the blue when Connor woke him the next morning, once again at the crack of dawn, in order to tell him that they were leaving Little Whinging, for the school that afternoon.

He'd thought that he would have felt something other than indifference at that announcement, because it didn't take a genius to work out that once they were gone, then he wouldn't be coming back any time in this lifetime.

Because while the time that he'd spent there sure as hell hadn't been happy, it was still the place that he'd grown up. It was here, that he'd fought with his cousin, and… well, no, now that he actually thought about it, and about the number of times that he'd wished for an out, maybe it wasn't so shocking that he wasn't tearing up.

The next announcement, however, came after he'd finished breakfast. And he was extremely grateful for that. If he hadn't had the food in his stomach already, then he wasn't sure he would have been able to eat afterwards.

"You do realise," Connor spoke in a low, gentle, tone of voice, "That we are not going to be coming back here?"

"Yeah. So?" Harry asked, making his voice as non-comitial as possible.

"So, that means, that we are going to collect anything that you want to keep with you, from the place you used to live at."

That, however, made Harry feel sick. He'd never really thought about it before, but now that he was forced to consider the Dursleys, and seeing them again, all that he wanted to do was creep back upstairs and hide under the covers.

Connor registered his young students distress, but not quickly enough to react.

Adam, however, got an even clearer look at it, as the boy left the kitchen, without a single care for where he was going, and barrelled straight into the unusual man.

He wasn't letting the boy go anywhere. Instead he grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him back a step, talking to him, even though he couldn't register what was being said.

Seconds later Connor came out after him, and took a step backwards, at the look that Adam shot him. It was cold, and calculated, and designed to make him talk.

But he couldn't care less about talking to Adam. At his moment, the boy was his only concern.

"It's the best was to let things go Harry. You _need_ to face them, and you _need_ to tell them that they hold no more power over you. If you don't do it now, then you'll no come across another chance, and even though you can't see it now, it is something that you will regret later."

"No I won't. I won't ever regret not seeing them again."

"You may not be able to see it now, but yes, you will. And you won't be alone. At the very least, I'll be there. And it's possible, to likely, that Duncan won't want to miss an opportunity to tear their heads off with his bare hands, and give them back on a silver platter."

At that mental image, Harry began to giggle, although the sound was laced with hysteria.

Adam couldn't help but shiver. The last time he'd heard that mad, hyena-like laugh from an actually person, it had been from Caspin, back when he'd ridden across the primitive earth.

"So," Adam spoke over Harry's head, even as he maintained his grasp on the boys shoulders, "Don't you think that you're cutting it a little close, Connor?"

"Either way, the boy and I leave today," he rose an eyebrow, "You?"

"Duncan and I have a few things to discuss. Namely, that a different form of magic exists, and that there are still things that not even he yet knows about. Then, depending on how he takes _that_ revelation, we'll probably follow some time in the next month or so. I've a property that's rather close to the school, and it's been a while since it's played host to actual people. I was thinking, that I should be able to have it aired out if you wanted to escape from playing teacher over the holidays."

"Yes, that would be appreciated. So, with any luck…"

"Yes. And I'll say goodbye now, because I've got a few things that I need to take care of, and I probably won't be back by the time you leave."

Connor nodded at the other man, and rested his own hand on Harry's shoulder as Adam let go, and headed for the door. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Connor guided the boy up-stairs.

"You got ahold o' yerself yet?"

"Yeah," Harry almost grunted the reply as he carefully shrugged Connor's hand away.

At that action, Connor bit back a sigh of frustration. He knew it would take time, for the boy to learn that he could rely on him fully, that he didn't always have to run, that he could trust others.

_Ahh well, at least time is something that I do have._

He had learnt to be patient a long time ago. Surely he could outwait a thin, weedy, scrap of a teenager.

It couldn't be that hard, could it?

"So, tell me, lad."

Again, Harry tensed, "Tell you what?"

"Tell me exactly what it is that you want to get before we actually go there."

"Oh," Harry said, and for a few seconds Connor could almost swear that the boy looked disappointed. Had he been expecting him to press for details of his former life? Had he actually wanted him to?

_Teenagers. No wonder they drive people to their edge._

The warning feeling of the buzz let him know that there was someone here, seconds before he heard the key turning in the lock, and Connor, glad for the chance to take a quick breather, rose and headed down the stairs, just to make sure that it was his old student.

"Duncan," he nodded at him, "Good morning."

As he spoke, Duncan stepped over the threshold, and headed straight for the kitchen, where he sculled down a couple of glasses of water.

"Morning," he said, with a quick smile. Running always made him feel good, "So, the boy sleeping in?"

"No, he's well awake. Came downstairs five minutes after you left, oddly enough. I don't supposed you threatened to drag the poor wee bairn out into the chill winter morn, while I wasna here?"

Duncan attempted to look innocent, but Connor knew him a lot better than that. If there was a single person, whether Immortal or human, whom had stayed with Duncan, that he hadn't dragged out running, or heard the threat of it at least once, then he surely didn't know of them.

"So, what's he doing back upstairs, then?"

"Disagreeing with me."

"What over?"

"The boy and I are leaving today. And I was going to take him back to the house that he used to live at, so that he could get anything that he wanted to take, and so that he could begin to put his past behind him."

Duncan looked livid, as he listened, "But you canna –Tis no fair on him. He's but a child, Connor, and it's because of those dogs that he'll remain as such."

Connor frowned, for a few moments. Had Duncan always been such a mother-hen type, or was this development only a recent one?

"No. You'll listen to me. It'll be a long, hard road for the healing process to take effect, but it'll be even harder if he doesn't face them. He needs to see that _he_ is the one with the power, and the one with the strength. That all _they_ deserve is to be crushed; that they're not worthy of being called human. And he'd see it a lot better if you were there, too."

"But damn it, Connor. Even putting it like that doesn't make it fair."

"You think any of our lives are about what's fair, Duncan? Tell me the last time you saw true justice. How often, in this day and age, do you see crimes against every conceivable nature? My job isn't to make the boy's life fair, Duncan; it's to teach him to be able to rely on himself –Tis about hardening him, so that he can have a chance at survival."

"When did you become so bitter, Connor?"

"When did you become so soft, Duncan?"

It was a blow that didn't pack half the punch that it could have. He was fed up with conversations that weren't getting him anywhere, and people that saw fit to argue with everything that he said. And, initially he had been planing on saying '_When did you become the champion of Immortal teenagers?'_ but he'd rethought it seconds before he'd uttered it. That would have been far below the belt, and he knew better than to take his frustrations out on a friend.

"I am not soft."

"Then prove it to me. Come with us, hold your famous temper, and support the boy."

Finally, after what felt like an age, Duncan nodded, "If you're determined to do this, then it's the least I can do, I suppose."

"Thank-you," he said, quietly.

As he turned to head back up the stairs, he was just in time to see the boy come to the top of them, fully dressed, with a hard expression on his face, holding himself like he was ready to take on the world.

"If I have to do this, then lets get on with it, before I talk myself back out of it."

"Good lad. You'll be fine. You'll be with us."

"I hope you're right," he muttered.

At that Connor grinned, "Trust me."

"The point seems a little moot, when I don't have any other choice."

Slowly, looking as reluctant as possible, the boy forced himself to walk out to the car, with Connor and Duncan only a heartbeat behind him.

As he drove in the direction of Privet Drive, Harry became steadily more unsettled. Even with Duncan's arm, which had been thrown around the boys' shoulder in a gesture of comfort, since he'd deigned to take the back seat, beside him, was doing little for him.

Finally, after a drive that felt like it had taken at least one ice age, he was pulling over outside of Number 9 Privet Drive.

And, with a hand on the boys' elbow, even though Duncan was still holding him to his side, he guided to boy up onto the front porch. After a few moments of thought, he reached forward and rung the bell.

Harry attempted, almost half-heartedly, to pull away, "Is it too late to change my mind, Connor?"

"Aye, lad. Far too late."

And it really was, because at that second the door was opened.

Connor blinked, as he stood there. For a few seconds he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The boy that had answered the door seemed to be roughly the same age as Harry, and yet he seemed to be fatter than he was tall. It was shocking. If this one lasted any further than his twenty-second birthday, he would be amazed.

And it was even worse when one considered the neglect that Harry had seen, when his stepmother's sister seemed to be ably to literally spoil her own son rotten.

The boy narrowed his eyes, focussing solely on Harry, "You shouldn't have come back. You're going to be in for it now," he said, with a mocking, malicing smirk on his face.

Connor had to fight with the urge to step forward and clap the boy across the ear. It had been a long time since he'd last seen such blatant disrespect from a youth, and he didn't like it one little bit.

"I think that you'd best get your parents."

Duncan's tone of voice was perfectly measured and controlled. And for that, Connor was glad, because he doubted that he'd have the self-control that _he_ needed, to talk as politely.

Roughly a minute later, an overly large man, quite clearly the boys' father if family resemblance was anything to go by, came out to the door and looked at Connor and Duncan, as though he were tyring to size them up. And, in a way he had been, because the first thing that he said was, "So, how much do I owe you for taking care of the little hellion for the last few days?"

His eyes, as he looked at Harry, completed the sentence. However much he payed these two men, he would reclaim every cent of out of his hide later on, and probably with interest.

After a few minutes of dead, deadly silence, it became obvious that the boy wasn't going to say anything.

"I'm not after your money. I'm here for the rest of the boys' things, so I'd like you to retrieve them. And then he and I will _not_ be coming back."

Vernon narrowed his eyes. Who did this man think he was, telling him what to do? Well, he knew exactly what to do with his type –Although, if he was going to take Harry away, then all power to him.

"There are no 'other things'. When the ungrateful little bastard didn't come back, then I got rid of them. My wife and I have raised him since he was one year old, given him the shirts off our backs, the food off our table, and even let him have _our_ son's second bedroom, and he repays us by simply up and vanishing. You're welcome to _him _but when he didn't come back, then I sold everything."

At the start of this tirade, Harry had felt insecure, and unsure. But, as it carried on, one thing made a noticeable difference. Vernon's words no longer had the power to scar him, because he was no longer tied to him. He didn't ever have to come back here, and he now had friends at his back –Not just Ron and Hermione, but adults, who afforded him the same respect that they would another grown-up. He was with people that treated him as an equal.

That ment that what Connor had said, earlier on was true. Vernon _did_ have no further power over him –because he didn't matter any longer.

Connor watched, as the realization dawned in the boys' eyes, and gave him a subtle pat on the back.

"You know what?"

At the sound of Harry speaking up, and directly to him, Vernon frowned.

"I asked if you know something?" Harry's tone of voice was entirely conversational, and, on hearing it, Connor smiled.

"The boy asked if you knew something. The polite thing to do would be to answer him."

Harry didn't wait for Vernon to answer him any longer, however. Instead, he gave him his most polite, impersonal smile, "You are totally unimportant. You exist only to make other people feel small, but that doesn't mean that I won't be glad to never have to see you again. Goodbye, and thank-you for showing me not what to do, if I want to be an actual human being."

The look on his face was priceless.

With that, Harry smoothly broke Connor's grasp on his elbow, slipped out from under Duncan's arm, and headed back to the car. This time, however, the two older men were glad to let him go, because this meeting had just had the best outcome that either of them could have ever hoped for.

Seconds later, they, too, followed suite. Before he pulled the door open, he gave Duncan a quick smile.

"If he's enough of a man to let ti go with no more than a few words, at this age, then I'd say he'll be a great man when he's older."

Connor nodded his acknowledgement.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX **

In a distant cabin, inaccessible by any human creature, a warrior moved with the easy-flowing, dance-like grace of the untried, and untested.

Even with perfection, new skill was telling.

Spinning to the left, blade cutting high through the air.

Three blows, one low, one mid-way, right where the navel of a man would be, and the third blow perfectly aimed at neck-height. There were no gaps, and no flaws.

If there were no practise, then there would be no food. Not until the lost hours, or minutes had been made up for.

Intense, dark eyes narrowed in anger and hatred.

Again, beginning a repetition of the dance. And with every stroke that fell into place, it was Connor MacLeod that this one saw.

With every blow that failed, when the mark was fallen short of, when it seemed just as inaccessible as this cabin, it was a cold death that was allowed to seep into a vivid imagination.


	9. Chapter 9: Pointed Avoidance

Chapter Nine

_**Pointed Avoidance **_

It was an unusual feeling, being back at the school before any other students arrived. During the day various members of the staff came and went, as their preparations were made, but none really acknowledged him, other than a simple greeting, or a quizzical stare, when they passed him as he was out and about wandering the passageways.

It seemed, more and more, as though no one other than Connor, Dumbledore, and Professor Snape knew his full circumstances. And everyone else seemed loath to ask, although he wasn't entirely certain why.

Maybe it was just a little too much to the point. Or maybe...Maybe, maybe, maybe he honestly didn't know.

There was still roughly a week left to go until the actual term started, and Harry was spending the majority of that time where he felt the most comfortable, squirreled away in a room which was adjacent to Connor's quarters, as Gryffindor tower was far too empty, and silent, and large with no-one else in there. For the most part, he tried to do the homework that he'd, well, not neglected so much as simply not been in any position to do.

When he wasn't hunched over a book that made his eyes swim, then he was practising with his sword under Connor's watchful supervision and strict tutelage, in a disused classroom which he didn't think had seen a student any time in the last ten years or so, if the layer of dust that were originally in it was anything to go by.

One thing that he found mildly annoying, in one of those 'can't-do-anything-about-it' ways, was the fact that Snape, too, was staying at the school from before term. He knew that Connor got on well with the man, but that didn't mean that he had to.

Although, he did have to admit, he wasn't finding the man quiet as annoying as he had been before. He wasn't entirely sure, however, if that was simply because he had recently dealt with far worse things than the Potions Master, or because he actually had toned things down a little in regards to him.

And there was only one day left before everyone else was due to arrive back when Connor went out to the village, in order to get a few things that he felt were necessary, when Dumbledore took him aside for 'a quiet word.'

Sitting in Dumbledore's office for the first time since Connor had arranged to take the DADA post he felt a tad uneasy, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

"Toffee Pop?" he offered, holding out a small bowl of said candy, which Harry politely declined, as he'd seen the same bowl there every time that he'd come up. He may have been an Immortal, but there were some things that not even he was willing to chance it with.

And besides –Merlin knew why Dumbledore always offered people sweets.

Harry sat down in the seat in the front of Dumbledore's desk, remembering, as he did so, the multitude of other times that he'd been in here. Of course, he usually had more idea of why he'd been called in, but…

_At least I can't be in any trouble,_ he thought, with more than a small hint of relief. There was no way that he could be in trouble, when the school year hadn't even started yet.

"Sir?" Harry asked, feeling a little as though he were being put on display.

"Now, now. No need to look so nervous, Harry," Dumbledore's tone of voice, which Harry would usually find reassuring, was putting him even more on edge, simply because he felt that it was necessary _to_ offer him reassurance.

"Well, maybe if you let me know why I'm here, sir?"

"I was simply wondering," Dumbledore peered over the rims of his glasses at Harry, "how you were handling things. As you must be aware, the school year starts again tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure that you were up to the task of facing the other students. If you needed some more time, or space, or if there is anything that I can do for you, then I'd like to know."

He had to admit, that this was one of the last things he'd been expecting. The only thing that could have equaled it, would have been if Fawkes had decided to pull rabbits out of the Sorting Hat…

_Okay, so maybe that's a little overboard, but still…_Harry frowned to himself, as he turned things over in his head.

"No, Sir. I actually think that it would do me some good if things were to start to get back to some form of normalcy –or at least as normal as my life ever gets, all things considered. If it hadn't been for all of the support that Connor's been giving me, then I'm not sure that I would be, but he's been great. If it weren't for him…"

Harry trailed off, put off by the expression that ghosted over Dumbledore's face. It was an expression that was gone so quickly that he was unsure of whether he'd actually seen it or not, but still, he was reasonably certain that it had been there, and that he hadn't been imagining it.

And that, of course, called to mind the unusual way that Connor had behaved around Dumbledore when he'd been talking to him about the possibility of getting a job at the school.

The distant, reserved attitude, and the note of anger in his voice… they all struck him as things that were out of character for his teacher. Not that he'd known the older Immortal for _all_ that long in the scheme of things, but he was fairly certain that he knew the man's basic personality by now.

And that was something that he dared not call Connor on. He was fairly certain that if he wanted Harry to know the why and wherefore of things, then he would offer the information when he wanted to.

"So," Dumbledore's voice interrupted his musing, "you and Connor are bonding with one another well enough?"

"Yes thank-you, sir."

"Very well." Dumbledore nodded, his face becoming blank, "Just so long as you know that if anything ever comes up, then you can come to me."

"Thank-you, Sir."

Harry rose from the seat and left the office. He was distracted enough by the out of place conversation that he almost walked right into a barrage of water-bombs that Peeves was planning of loosening at Mrs. Norms.

But he was nowhere near distracted enough to miss the buzz of an Immortal in the vicinity. It was a darker, rougher buzz then Connor's, if a feeling could be said to have texture. And, in spite of an inherent familiarity to the feeling, and the cemented knowledge that the castle was holy ground, he automatically tensed.

He wasn't particularly surprised to find Adam waiting around the corner.

"Hi," he greeted warmly, a smile coming to play at the corners of his mouth, the conversation that he'd just had, if not forgotten then at least put on the back-burner for the moment.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Adam returned the smile as he reached down to ruffle the boys' hair. While the gesture was an unfamiliar one to Harry, he didn't at all mind it.

"So," Harry said, as he started up the corridor again, Adam falling in to step behind him, "Not that it's not good to see you again, after the grand total of some two weeks, but was there a reason that you decided to drop by?"

Adam raised a brow, "Rather to the point today, aren't we?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered, as he blushed slightly, taking what felt like a reprimand with as much good grace as was possible.

"What for? You have as much right as the next person to want to get to the point of the matter."

"But…" Harry started, and then decided that he'd be well off by quitting before he fell any further behind.

"So, Connor not around?"

"No, as I'm almost entirely certain you've worked out by now. He left this morning, and said that he might not be back until after dinner."

Adam nodded.

"S," Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him, "How long have you been in Scotland?"

"Fifteen minutes give or take a couple. The castle's grown quite bit since the last time I saw it."

"When was that?"

"And that, my young friend, falls under the category of 'none of your business'."

Adam didn't even have to think about the reply. It wouldn't do the boy any good to know who he really was, and might, in fact, place him in even more danger than was necessary. He didn't think that the boy would ever betray him, not willingly anyway, but if he didn't know how old Adam was, and couldn't speculate at it either, then there was no way that anyone would be able to press him for the information, and put two and two together.

"Fifteen minutes?" he asked, following the next interesting tidbit that he'd spotted.

"Apparation," _that_ was an answer that he was happy to provide.

"So, it took you what –ten minutes to walk out of the forest and half-way through the castle?"

"There are ways around every ward, if one knows where to look, and what to look for."

He saw the intrigue on Harry's face, and bit back a smile. That was one way to deal with curious wizards –provide a lot of detours.

"So…"

"So what?" Adam gave him an innocuous smile.

"Ways around wards?" Harry pressed.

"I think," He began, and Harry looked at him with an intense focus, "that you have enough to worry about even without me teaching you my little tricks."

He watched as the boys' expression became one of annoyance, "So, why did you want Connor, anyway?"

"Don't _you_ worry about it. I'll catch up with him at a later date."

Harry tilted his head sideways for a few moments, and his expression became serious for a few seconds. Then he sort of shook himself, as though to shake off whatever it was that was troubling him. For that brief moment he rather resembling a fox, listening intently for the sounds of a rabbit, safely secreted away in it's burrow underground.

That thought lead him down on another tangent, as he wondered whether the boy before him would learn, on-day how to shift to an anamagus form. He'd never heard of an Immortal who had learned how to do such a thing. Not even _he_ had succeeded there –and it wasn't due to a lack of trying.

Come to think of it, it was probably the same thing that kept an Immortal from changing in any other noticeable way that halted the possibility of shape shifting.

At that moment Harry spoke, breaking into his thoughts, "So, any particular reason that you've come alone?"

"Duncan isn't speaking to me at the moment. He seems to be rather annoyed," he mock-frowned, "Can't fathom why, you know."

"Oh," there didn't really seem to be anything else that he could say.

"Nothing to worry about –it's not the first time we've …ahh… disagreed of something, and I doubt it'll be the last."

Harry turned around the corner, with Adam still in step beside him, and found himself almost walking into Snape who was making his own way down the corridor, in the opposite direction to the pair of Immortals, on his way to goodness knew where.

"Good afternoon, Harry," he said, smoothly.

He still hadn't been able to get his head around Snape's recent politeness-cum-indifference regarding him. Or maybe it was more that he didn't want to. Because whenever he began to wonder at it, his mind did it's best to rebel on him.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said, keeping his own voice as even, and as cool as Snapes' was.

As in his pointed effort to avoid paying him as much attention as he possibly could without actually being rude in any for or way, he also managed to miss the tiny frown that crossed over Adam's face, before the older Immortal managed to wrest his expression back under full control.


	10. Chapter 10: The Year Begins

**Chapter 10: Chapter 10: The Year Begins**

_**A.N Sorry I haven't made this clear before now, even though I think it's clear with this chappie –my setting for this story is fifth year. Ah, well. Read, review, and please, don't hesitate to drop me a review. I love to know what people think. In fact, this chapter goes out to everyone that has left their opinion.**_

**__****A.N.N Edited.**

_**Share and enjoy. ^.^**_

_**Chapter Ten**_

Harry made his way out to the Great Hall, just as everyone from off the coaches came pouring in, and took his regular seat at Gryffindor table. Seconds later, two people separated from the crowd and made their way over to him.

"Ron, Hermione." He nodded at them, and allowed a hint of a smile, before he was dragged out of the seat and hugged to within an inch of his life.

"What are you already doing here, Harry? Because it's normally against regulation for a student to be allowed access to the castle before term starts." Hermione was talking quickly, and it was only thanks to practise that he could follow here.

He shrugged, and grinned, "Special circumstances," before the three of them all sat down at the table.

"So, anything interesting happen on the train?"

"Not unless you count Neville spending the entire ride looking for his toad, as usual."

"Yeah," Ron nodded in agreement, "without you the ride was pretty much a drag."

After the sorting and the song, Dumbledore stood up again, and Harry peered towards the table with a tiny smirk. He'd discussed just the other day with Connor, just how much the Immortal preferred to avoid public speaking, or display. He'd have preferred to spend the opening fest in his quarters, but that was a no-go.

"Well, Filtch has asked me to remind you for what he says is the three hundred and fifty-sixth time, that use of magic in the hallway between classes is against the rules. And we also have a couple of changes amongst staff members. First of all, taking over as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I'm pleased to introduce Professor Connor MacLeod.

"In respect to his teaching role, Connor will also be holding an after class lesion on physical defence, should anyone need to defend him, or her-self while in Muggle communities.

"And I'd also like to introduce Madame Dolores Umbridge, who has been Ministry certified, and will be working in a supervisory capacity."

As he said that he looked as though he'd been forced to swallow a plate of stink-beetles, and Harry frowned to himself. This would make the rivalry that seemed to exist between Dumbledore and Connor a touch more interesting.

Once the feast was over, and everyone stood to go back to his or her room, Harry stayed sitting, to the curiosity of his friends. Yesterday afternoon Connor had extended the invitation remain living in his quarters, in order to make the training and anything else easier, and after a lot of deliberation he'd accepted.

Things were going to be difficult enough with this year as it was without having to worry about keeping his Immortality hidden from an entire dorm of people.

"Professor MacLeod?" Hermione questioned, as he left the staff table, and came over to where Harry still was.

Harry stood, "This is Ron Weasley, and this is Hermione Granger. They're my closest friends here."

Connor nodded to both of them in turn, "As well as your DADA teacher, I'm also acting as young Mr Potter's guardian. He is my ward. And he has been, and will remain staying in my quarters with myself."

Ron frowned, "Guardian? But there hasn't been a guardian appointed in about eight hundred years."

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him as though he'd grown two heads.

Ron shrugged, "Just because I normally sleep through History of Magic…"

"Yes, well. Just because something hasn't happened in a long time, doesn't mean that there's no good in the old ways."

Harry nodded, and Connor put a hand onto Harry's shoulder, to lead him away, "Anyway, I'll see you guys tomorrow morning."

One last quick hug passed between the three of them, before Harry turned and followed.

They returned to the room and settled in for the night. There was no training that night, because Connor felt that there would be enough on Harry's plate with the first weeks' worth of schooling.

And he preferred to put him through his paces first thing in the morning, because a vigorous workout first thing in the morning set him up for the rest of the day.

The fire was burning comfortably in the room that had been designed to act as a sitting room. Connor pulled out a bottle of ale, and poured out a small shot into a glass.

He arched an eyebrow in Harry's direction, "You want one?" he asked, gesturing for him to take a seat.

"Yeah, I will, thanks," Harry settled him-self into the indicated seat.

"So, boy," Connor spoke as he handed the glass over, "how long have you known Duncan?"

Harry tilted the glass from side to side, staring down at the dark golden liquid in it, "We only met at the start of the holidays."

_The temperature was stifling, even though it was already nine o'clock at night. Not that the temperature made all that much difference, because he couldn't sleep either way._

_He hadn't been able to sleep with any ease since Voldemort's return and Cedric's death only a week ago, because he kept on being woken by nightmares, which was why he was out wandering the streets after dark, trying to make himself tired enough to sleep with-out dreaming._

_He had just sat down on a lonely swing, when a voice spoke behind him, making him start._

"_A little late for someone your age to be out and about, isn't it?"_

_As he made to spin around in order to face the speaker, he managed to falloff the swing and land painfully on his back. _

_A pair of black boots came into his sight, and the guy that had spoken stepped towards him, extending a hand downwards to help in onto his feet again. Harry accepted the hand._

_If this man had wanted to kill him then he'd already had ample opportunity._

_Once Harry was on his feet, and had brushed himself off, he extended his hand._

"_I'm Harry. Harry Potter."_

_There was no mocking eye-roll. No pointed 'I know who you are.' –Which meant that this was probably from the Muggle world rather than the magickal one._

_Of course, it wasn't a sure-fire way to tell, but it was usually sure enough._

_The man smiled at him, "It makes a nice change, to meet a boy of your generation whom can remember his manners," he took the extended hand, and shook it, "Richard."_

_Duncan had no idea why the false name had automatically jumped to his tongue, but it would only be suspicious were he to retract it now._

_He spent an easy half-hour talking to the boy about trivial matters, and then he saw him back to his home. He didn't know why he felt drawn to protect the boy, why he felt so reluctant to leave him. _

_Ah, well. It was something to talk to Methos about, when he got back home._

Harry tossed back the few last drips of the drink, and lowered his glass back down, "You know, thinking about it, there's really not _that_ much of a story there, is there?"

"From what I've heard, lad, I'd say your life is exciting enough without that having to be some grand adventure, as well."

At that, Harry laughed, "Too true. Pretty much everything seems to happen to me, in one form or another. Even last year, with the bloody Triwizard Tournament –I mean, I know that the cup was foxed, but it was still a right pain being selected. And there's about a hundred other examples that I could name, too."

"I'm sure there are."

Harry rolled his eyes, "You know, and here I was hoping that this year would finally lean towards being normal, for once. And before school even _starts_ back, I'm already thrown into another bloody jumble."

"I'm sure that sooner or later you will get a normal year out of your life. God knows that you'll have long enough."

He gave Harry a lopsided smile.

Finally Harry said his goodnights, knowing that he'd be dragged out of bed at roughly the same time as sunrise tomorrow.

Connor looked at him over the top of his glass; in much the same manner as a father figure would survey a child, with a hint of pride and affection. It was really far too soon to be getting attached to the slip of a teenager, but he couldn't help it.

And as he sat in the chair, the crackling of the fire lulled him into a light sleep.

_He heard the sound of a child's' laughter, felt a hand grasping at his own._

_A cake sat on an oak table before him, with ten candles on it, and dark brown eyes peered up at him._

_As he looked into those dark brown eyes they shifted, and became a cat-like green. Became Harry's._

_Still, the same young voice spoke to him._

"_Don't let him take me. Please, da. Don't let him take me."_

_He clutched tightly at the hand, which tore at him, nails scrabbling at him, trying to hold on, desperate enough to tear the skin._

"_I've got you."_

_He narrowed his eyes at a shadow, which was solidifying, and coming forward, "Get out."_

_The hand grasping at him tightened, and the nails lengthened, becoming claws._

_Agony shot through him, on the wings on darkness._

Connor woke, gasping for breath, and to find that the fire had gone out.

A dark figure stood outside of a perfectly normal looking house in Little Whinging.

Today the school year had started again.

He was sure that with the Imperious Curse he would have been able to spell the end of Harry Potter. He'd worked at it a little more every day, killing the boy by slow degrees.

Letting hurts pile on top of hurts, wounds and injuries build up, but so subtly that it would be too late to do anything before the end came into sight.

He'd seen the neglect, and seen a chance that he could work with.

Trauma, and pain, and abuse –they were all good for ensuring silence.

But then the boy had left, and not come back.

And with the year starting again today, the chance was gone. Gone again.

He'd obviously started the ball rolling too late, had made it too slow.

There was no point in keeping the spell holding the Dursleys any more.

Ah, well. At least he'd tried.

Snape, too, was having trouble sleeping.

Thoughts were racing through his mind at roughly a hundred miles a second, which meant that the first person to put a toe out of line tomorrow morning would either be met with detention, or a slow, torturous death via disembowelling slugs.

Depending on what felt worse at the time…

And it would probably be some hapless first year, as usual.

He hated feeling so uncertain of himself, but there wasn't anything that he could do about it, other than work through it. And that would take a lot longer than a night.

Grumbling to himself, he dug out a small bottle from in his personal supply cupboard, and poured out a small measure of dreamless sleep potion, which he took, before forcing himself to lie down.


End file.
